


Seasons of Change

by secretagentsmutgirl



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Ending, Diplomacy, F/M, Gen, Reconstruction, balance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentsmutgirl/pseuds/secretagentsmutgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seasons change and people change, but some things are pre-destined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Ideas on the theme of the seasons. Very abstract.

It had been raining for the better part of two weeks, cold rain the likes of which had never been seen before the war came home. Every year since, at the time when the Earth Kingdom was planting and the Water Tribe saw the polar fish run, the Fire Nation saw cold and wet that both humbled and strengthened them. It was balance, still in its infancy.

Inside the palace of the Fire Lord it was warm and dry, but still some brave souls ventured out for fresh air out on the covered verandas the lined the many impressive gardens. On this day only two such souls ventured out to seek fresh air, when even the koi fish hid from the weather. They were the picture of stillness itself around the ancient game board.

“You play pai sho well for one so young,” Iroh, the celebrated Dragon of the West, pronounced with an air of satisfaction. His opponent made no answering remark, intent on the paths the tiles had yet to tread. It had been a very long time since a challenging opponent had crossed the retired General's path, it was the rainy season in Sozin and visitors were rare. Even of the diplomatic variety.

Resolutely a tile was slid across the board. It was a remarkable gambit and wholly unexpected. Pai Sho was very much like firebending, one had to keep themselves grounded solidly at the root. Abstraction only after focus. Overhead rain pattered mercilessly on the tile shielding them above. He found the sound very soothing. “Would you look at that.” Carefully, he placed his finger on the lotus tile with an enigmatic smile. “I believe I win again. I am so very surprised.”

Both of them knew that was a lie, but it was comfortable one, used many times between the two opponents in the years since the war. Neither moved from the table, nor moved the tiles from their places of victory and defeat. Silently a black clad servant knelt beside the board, sliding a tea tray between the two men and decanting the steaming contents of the pot into both cups before withdrawing.

The steam from the tea rose in prodigious amounts into the chilled air, ghosting the scent of jasmine into the space around them. For a moment there was only reverence for the game, before the other man scowled at the proffered teacup, with no real venom in him. “I'll beat you yet, old man.”

“You are very close, my young friend. You have an uncanny gift for subterfuge, a handy skill in the Fire Nation.” The unsaid for a foreigner hung heavily in the air between them. It was well understood despite.

“You mean in this rat-vipers nest?” The blue eyed diplomat deadpanned.

Heathenishly blowing on his tea to cool it down, an absent gesture and a very telling tic, Sokka gazed longingly out at the grey vista beyond the balcony. The rainy season always reminded him of Kyoshi, where rain was lush and fog was mysterious and everything was romantic in hindsight. In Sozin the rain was merely unrelenting, alien heavy for the weeks that it was known before the sun returned to turn everything to dust and gold. It had been half a year since he'd seen it last, vivid in its autumnal bounty. The thought sent a leaden feeling through him and the air grew heavy.

Iroh did not break the silence for many moments. Instead he savored his tea and gave his silent thanks for such moments when words would only clutter the air. Truly the young watertribesman had matured for he had learned to value silence as much as song.

“If you would honor me with another rematch?”

Carefully Sokka replaced his teacup on the table and gracefully bowed to his opponent. “Next week will be my week, General. I am feeling lucky about my wife arriving.”

“I will not sink so low as to make a play on words about you getting lucky, but your challenge is as always accepted.” If there had been a thing that had drawn the unlikely friends together it had been such poor humor.

True to this, Sokka laughed heartily as he rose to his feet. “It's a shame that His Lordliness refuses to play. It would be nice to win at something once in a while; it's good for a man’s pride.”

“My nephew has many talents. Pai Sho is not amongst them,” Iroh said wistfully.

“Neither is relaxing. Even without Council in session he's locked up in his study, dragging us into meetings and granting audiences.” Sokka gave Iroh a heavy look. “He's driving every one of those stoic, well-bred advisors up the wall. They are so wound up they can't even got out of their own way.”

Sokka huffed. “If it weren't so annoying it would be really funny.”

There was sadness in the words that belied any humor the situation could have provided. If humor and Pai Sho had brought the aging General and the young warrior together, being forced to grow up too rapidly had been what brought the two young men into an alliance. This filled Iroh with regret, though he couldn't quite place why. When he spoke, his words were softer than usual but no less weighted. “It is never easy to be the ruler of this nation, but more so I do not think it's easy for Zuko to just be himself.”

“That's what worries me, old man.” Sokka looked grim. Gone was the boyish jocularity, an affection used to disarm or put at ease. The man he had become tempered of something tougher, something that only ice could breed. “That should be the easiest thing in the world for him.”

Only after the younger man had left did Iroh pick his lotus tile up from where it lay in triumph. To no one he mused, “Everything will be better when the sun comes again.”


End file.
